Two Stars and a Universe
by LoveLoveLovix
Summary: Dean and Sam have been shuffled around since their parents were both murdered sixteen years ago, and as a result, Dean's grown pretty protective of his selectively mute little brother. Since they've found a home of sorts with Samuel Campbell, the last living member of their family, things might start to improve. Or not. It seems to depend on a cute, non-hunter, Humanities teacher.
1. Then

**Two Stars and a Universe**  
A Destiel Partial AU

_Chapter One: Then_

Five years later, and Dean Winchester still had nightmares about the worst day of his life.

The worst day of his life wasn't the day that his parents died in a fire, or the day that he lost the fight against the bastard who nicknamed Sam "Stupid Sammy," or the day he turned eighteen and fought tooth and nail for a place to sleep every night. The worst day of his life was the day that he and Sam moved in with Samuel Campbell.

He remembered everything vividly, even when he was sleeping. It started at five AM. Dean was packing up the belongings that he had gathered in the last year- a toolbox, a hunter's knife, too much plaid flannel- and the few things he always had- John Winchester's dog tags, Mary Winchester's charm bracelet, a family photo, and a book of sign language he stole from a library in Middletown, Pennsylvania. He glanced over at Sam. Sam was facing away from Dean, and was too quiet, considering that it was only the two of them in the room. "Cheer up, Sammy," Dean forced himself to say with a smile. "It's not gonna be so bad. We're going with family. Hell, Samuel is your namesake. Everything'll be fine, promise."

Sam didn't answer, and Dean set down his large backpack and walked over. As soon as Sam's face was in sight, he knew why the conversation was one-sided. "New book," Dean noted.

Sam looked up. "Bobby told me I could pick a few out for the car ride, and I could just give them back when we're living here again."

Dean smiled at his brother. Stupid Sammy... yeah, right. Sam was as bright as anyone. Wasn't his fault that he was quiet. "Better not dog ear those pages," he warned, "because as soon as Bobby's legs are better, we're coming back."

"Will Bobby's legs get better?"

The truth was, Dean didn't know. The tumble that their guardian took two months ago had been bad, and the two Winchester boys had only made it worse by waiting a full week (at Bobby's insistence) to contact someone and ask for help. Before they knew it, Bobby was in a wheelchair recovering from three broken bones, and when another hunter came in and saw a crippled Bobby dealing with two underage boys, phone calls were made and new living arrangements were made. Again.

There was a difference this time though. Samuel Campbell was their grandfather, father of their mother. Not like it mattered much- weren't grandfathers supposed to be jolly old men who smiled too much and told old stories and took care of you? Dean and Sam had never met Samuel. What sort of bastard doesn't take their own blood in until eleven, twelve years after they first need a place to live? Or at least visits them... sends them a birthday card... picks up a phone... anything? Hell, Dean hadn't even known that their grandparents were hunters until an elaborate web of Bobby's contacts had led to him.

Dean sighed. "Yeah, Sammy. They'll get better. Now, put the book up. Save it for the road."

Sam stuck the tome- some big volume about shifters- into a book bag that was about half his size, and Dean scooped it up. Sam made a face. "I can carry it," he said.

"I'll tell you what. The moment you get taller than I am, you can carry your stuff and mine. Until then, I've got all of it."

"I'll never be taller than you. I'm tiny," Sam said.

"Stop complaining. I bet Bobby will let you pick out another book. Then you'll be carrying something."

Sam grumbled, but he let Dean take both backpacks and the tool kit. The weight was annoying, but not too bad, and the brothers exited the bedroom and headed down to the first floor. Bobby waited at the foot of the flight of stairs, and managed a smile. It didn't fool Dean- he was sure Bobby was just as reluctant to let the boys go with Samuel as the boys were to go. "Don't you boys go making yourself too comfortable with that Samuel fellow," he said, before looking at Dean. "Let your brother get some of that, you idjit, you're going to break your back."

"I'm fine," Dean said. It wasn't exactly a lie. "Hey, Sammy wants to know if he can get another book."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Go get one. And don't dog ear the pages. You've ruined more books in the last year than you're worth."

Sam ran off to pick yet another large book, and Dean set down his bags. "Is Samuel here yet?"

"Nope. Hell, the sun isn't even here. Next time someone tells me they're coming early, I'm getting up at eleven, and if they want to complain, they can kiss my..."

That was when the doorbell rang. Bobby muttered something that Dean couldn't discern and rolled towards the door. He opened it in that way of his, like it was a major inconvenience even when it wasn't, and Dean could hear him say "Samuel Campbell?" It was, and when Bobby rolled back to Dean, he was trailed by a gruff looking man who made Dean wonder if it was possible to keep any hair at all past the age of forty.

Maybe it was the look that accompanied those thoughts that made Samuel narrow his eyes. "This one's Dean?"

"Yup. Sam's in the library."

Samuel looked at Dean, his expression only describable as "hard." "Go get your brother," he said.

Dean didn't argue, though he had a thousand things to say about that man- how he didn't care enough to get them straight off and now he was going to come into their house and boss Dean around? What the hell? Maybe Dean was only fifteen, but he was pretty sure that this was not how it worked, blood or not.

As he walked into the library, his face made his opinions immediately obvious to Sam. "You don't like him," Sam said, his young face crumpled with worry.

"What I think about him doesn't change a thing, Sammy. Come on. It's time to go."

Sam took the biggest book in immediate reach and followed Dean out of the library. Samuel immediately looked at him appraisingly. "So this is Sam."

Sam, predictably, didn't say anything. "You're what, eleven?" Samuel continued.

Sam looked away, and Samuel frowned. "What's the matter? Don't want to talk to your own grandpa?"

Dean frowned. "Sam doesn't talk much," he said to Samuel.

"Well, he'd better start if he wants a roof over his head and food on his plate."

Bobby, who had been steaming quietly, decided then to speak up. "He's selectively mute, you ass."

"So what, he's stubborn? Singer, you let him get away with this? He's eleven, not one."

"It's a friggin' psychiatric disorder, not a temper tantrum. Probably one that's caused by people like you who wait eleven whole years before giving your own grandkids even a lick of attention!"

"I didn't know about them, and now I'm here." The combination of Samuel's yelling and the fact that he was standing made him seem not just insensitive, but scary. At that moment, Dean was pretty sure he would have done anything to keep Sam away from Samuel. "But know this," he continued. "I am their grandfather. They are my grandkids. I'm their family. And you're what, some old drunk who felt sorry for them?"

Bobby pursed his lips. Dean knew Bobby well enough to know that he was trying not to say something. Samuel, however, seemed to take the expression as giving up, or even just plain losing. "It's time to go boys. Get in the car."

Sam reluctantly trailed Samuel out the door, but Dean stayed behind. "I left something in my room," he said. "I'll be out in a minute."

"Don't keep me waiting," Samuel warned, but allowed it.

As soon as it was just the two of them, all of the things Dean had thought about Samuel burst out. "You're not actually making me go with him, Bobby."

"Don't have much of a choice, do I, kid?"

As much as a part of Dean wanted to throw a tantrum and be completely unreasonable, he had too much respect for Bobby to do so. Hell, Bobby was one of the only people he had that kind of respect for. Bobby was the umpteenth hunter who took the two Winchester boys in after their parents had been killed, presumably by a demon. However, he was the first one who actually put them before hunting. Dean knew it was unrealistic to expect anyone to give up the "life," but was it really so much to ask for a bedtime story for Sam, or someone to actually look at their report cards? In the case of a couple, someone to enroll them in school at all! Dean didn't really care for himself- he was a big boy- but Sam needed someone who might actually care for him, despite his selective mutism.

When Bobby Singer let Dean and Sam into his home, he didn't pressure Sam to speak. He didn't stop taking cases, but he made sure they were close to his home in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, and that the boys could always contact him. When Dean caught the flu, Bobby actually called up a nearby friend to take a case he was in the middle of, just so he could make sure that Dean didn't need to go to the doctor's office and Sam was too occupied in the library to come in to the bedroom they shared and catch it too.

Nine months after the boys moved in, Dean came home from school to find Bobby at work on an old car- a Chevy Impala. 1967. The very car that belonged to John and Mary. Dean had just hit his fifteenth birthday, and Bobby made him a deal- if he helped fix it up, then it was his as soon as he turned sixteen.

The truth was- and guilt crept in when he admitted this- that the happiest year of Dean's life wasn't the year he remembered with his parents. It was that year, floating in all of the misery, the year that Bobby let them into his house with an enthusiasm and access that the brothers had never had before.

And now, that was all going away. "Come on, I can take care of Sammy. You can take it easy and just yell at us and call us idjits every now and again, and before you know it, you'll be better. You know I know how to take care of the kid."

"Damn it, Dean, that's not how childhood works. You're a friggin' fifteen year old boy. You think you can just waltz in and be the dad for however long it takes me to get better? Well I have news- that isn't how the world works. The Sheriff comes down here the first time you screw up, and she takes you two away, and suddenly you aren't even with hunters anymore. And there's an investigation on me, so you don't even have anyone who can help you when the creepy crawlies start coming. I don't like this grandfather of yours anymore than you do, kid, but he's family, and he's got two legs to stand on, and that's more than I've got going for me."

"He's not family, Bobby. Sam's my family. Hell, you're my family. He wasn't the one taking care of us over the last year."

"You heard him, he didn't even know about you. Now, you better get going before he comes in and throws another hissy fit. Oh, but I've got something for you first." Bobby reached into the makeshift saddlebag that Dean had made in the Home Economics class he was forced to take in the second semester of that school year, his freshman year in high school. When he pulled his hand out, a cheap silver cell phone was in his clutches. "Here. My number's in there. Keep in touch- I'll cover the bill. But, mmm, you probably shouldn't flash it around."

Dean tried to smile, but it wouldn't come. He got the meaning- Samuel might not be so happy to know Dean was still in contact with an "old drunk." He stuffed the phone into his pocket."Will do. I'll... I'll catch you around."

"Sure you will, kid. Be good for your grandpa, no matter how ignorant, mean, or downright stupid he is."

"Don't worry about that," Samuel's voice said smoothly. Dean turned towards the door, where Samuel was standing. He was looking at Bobby. "If you don't get your butt in the car in the next five seconds, your butt isn't going to be doing much of anything for a while."

Dean reluctantly headed out and slid into the backseat an old Ford. He could have stood up to Samuel, but it didn't seem worth it, not when it would upset Sam. Sam was already having enough of a bad day.

Sam was in the seat next to him, and Dean tried again to smile, just for his little brother. They were just getting off to a bad start. Samuel wasn't a bad guy, it was just that he had a lot to live up to. He was family. It was all going to be okay. It was all going to be okay. It was all going to be okay.

Five years later, and Dean was still trying to convince Sammy. He had long ago given up trying to convince himself.

* * *

Author's Note: This is the part where I welcome you to a new story (welcome to a new story btw) and direct you to my lovely beta taylorswiftisawinchester on tumblr because without her this would be terribly OOC. It's like midnight so that's it for author's notes night.


	2. Now

When Dean Winchester woke, it was still about an hour before he had to be up, and he was still tired. Groggily, he rolled over on the carpeted floor and looked up to the bed. Sammy was still sleeping soundly- of course he was, he had a _mattress. _What Dean would have given for that.

He sighed. He should have been used to the uncomfortable sleeping conditions after five years, but it didn't seem to work that way... it was like it got worse instead of better. It wasn't like he was forced to sleep on the floor, though. Down the hallway was another bed, the one he was supposedly sleeping in, but no way was he going to be that far from Sam. The kid might need his older brother at any moment. And since sixteen year old Sam was just as big as twenty year old Dean, and since the twin beds that Samuel provided were too small for either of them, there was really no other way to sleep.

For a while, Dean tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable, but between the hard floor and the bitter chill of the room (Samuel liked the cold), there was no way. Finally, he stood and crept out of the room, not that he really had to creep. Samuel was on an extended hunt, and Sam slept like a rock.

He went downstairs and into the dining room, which had wallpaper in the most awful shade of yellow, accented with flowers that were the second most awful shade of yellow. An old mirror hung on one wall, over a wooden endtable that might have been the only decent piece of furniture in the room. Dean stared into it. His light-brown hair was too short as of current to have any bedhead issues, but there were bags under his green eyes. There was a faint shadow of a beard coming in- he'd have to shave that- and his favorite jacket was wrinkled from sleep. All in all he looked like some hobo. A handsome hobo, but still, not his best.

He glanced down at the small table. Sitting on it, right where he put it three days ago, was an envelope. For the umpteenth time, he slid a letter out of it, unfolded it, read it.

_Dear _**Mr./Mrs. Winchester** _,_

_My name is Castiel Novak, and I am your son or daughter's _**Intro to Humanities** _teacher this semester._

_I am writing to request a conference with you to discuss _**Samuel D. Winchester. **_This conference is not due to any issues in behavior, nor issues in grade that your child may be experiencing._

_In order to keep the class productive, calm, and ready to learn, I require at least one parent conference per semester. You are currently scheduled for _**Saturday, September 10 **at **10:00 AM**. _If you cannot make this date or time, please feel free to call me at (785) 555-2277 to make arrangements for another time. I am always happy to compromise and adjust my schedule as much as possible to make it as easy on everyone as it can be._

_I am excited to see you and I am excited to help your child learn this year._

_Sincerely,_

_Castiel Novak_

_Freshman Government  
Sophomore Intro to Humanities_

Dean might not have been Sam's dad or even his guardian, but the letter _was_ addressed to "Mr. Winchester," and that wasn't Samuel. Besides, Samuel was all about family and how being related, being blood, automatically made you close. A brother was closer than a grandfather who was currently a state away, wrestling with a wendigo, literally and figuratively. When Sammy brought the letter home, Dean had taken it and opened it and just never shown Samuel.

Now, it was the day of the conference, too late to go back. Dean almost wished he could. What if he got arrested for impersonating Samuel or some shit like that? Dean doubted he'd mind a few days in jail, or whatever they gave him, but Samuel could think up worse things, like kicking Dean out of the house or keeping him away from Sam. Dean swallowed, hard- he didn't want to think of what he'd do if that happened again.

He walked out of the dining room and into the small kitchen, still holding Mr. Novak's letter. The kitchen, also a sickly shade of yellow, had something that no other room downstairs did- a clock. Half an hour until he had to leave. Hopefully Sam would sleep away the next thirty minutes. Dean didn't want to take him. It'd just be awkward. Mr. Novak would do whatever teachers did at conferences, and Dean would likely just nod and pretend to understand while Sam sat and actually did understand but wouldn't be able to explain a word to Dean until they were out the school doors.

With his spare time, Dean took a couple slices of wheat bread (damn awful healthy stuff with some sort of seeds stuck to the crust) from the bread box and popped them in the toaster. As they toasted, he stretched a little more, trying to look relatively awake and adult. When the bread popped out, he smeared a little peanut butter on each slice and stuck one in his mouth as he grabbed the keys to his car.

_It was his sixteenth birthday. And that was absolutely it. Sweet sixteen? No. Happy birthday? Like hell._

_Dean and Samuel had just spent an hour arguing over the all sorts of drama. Dean wanted his license, but "what car are you gonna drive?" Samuel wanted Dean to get a job, but "who's gonna watch Sammy when you're out hunting?" Dean wanted to drop out of high school and just get a GED, but "like hell you will if you plan to live in this house." It had ended, or rather, had been postponed when two cars pulled into the driveway. Samuel put on that face Dean hated, the face that said "you aren't family, so you don't get to see my good side OR my bad side," and Dean tried to hold back his anger or risk taking it out on whoever was here._

_The person driving the first car got out. He was familiar- Alan Williams, who had been the Winchester boys' guardian for two months when Dean was twelve and Sam was eight. They'd had to leave him once he realized what Dean had realized a week in- he didn't know how to handle two kids. Half the time, the boys were given alcohol and shotguns before Alan thought any better- and usually, he did it at the same time, half drunk himself. Still, he was a nice guy. Funny, too. And he was friends with Bobby. Dean smiled a little and went out to meet him. "Hey, Alan!"_

_"Dean!" Alan grinned as he saw Dean, now more than three years older, and with the height to show it. "Been awhile, huh? Happy birthday!"_

_"Thanks. Hunting something?"_

_"Nah. I'm on a special mission, requests of Bobby." Alan's grin grew wider, and he motioned behind him. Dean immediately saw what he had initially missed. The second car was an Impala. _The _Impala, the one that had belonged to his parents. Dean's eyes widened._

_The door to the Impala's driver's seat opened, and another of Bobby's friends climbed out. Ellen Harvelle. Possibly his second favorite guardian after Bobby, and the only other one that he had been truly sorry to leave. He was six and Sam was two, and they'd been there for ten, eleven months when Ellen's daughter Joanna Beth was born. At first, having a little sister- because that was what Jo was to them- was perfect. The life they had was as normal and stable as you could get with a hunter in the family. Ellen stayed home and ran a bar called Harvelle's Roadhouse while she took care of the kids. Her husband Bill went hunting. Dean was the little helper, attending kindergarten and helping Ellen as much as he could, and Sam and Jo were the babies._

_Of course that all changed when Jo caught a flu that landed her in the hospital and Bill got killed on a hunt in the same week. They got picked up by the next person willing to take a couple of kids and never went back. Dean asked once, when he was seven, and was told that Ellen had enough on her plate without worrying about a couple of orphan brats. That comment never fully got out of his mind._

_"Hey, Ellen," Dean said._

_Ellen smirked, and it was just like Dean remembered. He had wondered as a kid if Ellen knew how to smile in a way that didn't look kind of sarcastic. "I have to admit, I'm kind of surprised you remember me after ten years, kid."_

_"Of course I do. Did you bring Jo?"_

_"Nope, she's being watched by a friend. I needed room for someone else."_

_Ellen opened the back door, and motioned him over. Dean walked up, and smiled big. Sitting there, looking slightly uncomfortable, was Bobby, his legs stretched out on the seat. "Well, don't just stand there with your mouth open," he said gruffly, and Dean smiled._

_"Hey, Bobby," he said. He was trying not to show how happy he was- Samuel said that it was unmanly and childish- but it was hard. He wanted to cry. Bobby had done what he seemed to do best- he'd taken the worst possible situation, shown up in the middle of it, and make it all better._

_"Dean!"_

_Dean turned to face the person who was calling- no, barking his name. Samuel. He was standing on the porch, looking mad as hell- whether that was leftovers from the argument or whether he was just miffed at the intrusion, Dean couldn't tell. "What's going on?"_

_Ellen pursed her lips. "We brought Dean his birthday present." She turned back to Dean and motioned to the Impala. "It's all fixed up, courtesy of me and Jo. Bobby told us exactly what to do."_

_"Not that they listened much," Bobby muttered, but it was a joking sort of complaint._

_"Don't worry, Dean, if those girls didn't do it right then you can just call me up and I'll get it working for you," Alan said. "Promise."_

_Samuel walked down the driveway and began to inspect the car. "You're trusting a sixteen year old _kid _with a vintage car?" he questioned._

_"Ain't no trust about it," Bobby said. "The car's his. Belonged to his dad and his mom, and last I checked, he's the oldest kid they've got. It's been around since they've died, but now's as good a time as any to put it back in the family."_

_"Can I really keep it?" he asked, more to Samuel than to anyone else._

_It was Ellen who answered. "It's yours. If you can't keep it here, we can drive it back to Bobby's until you've got a place to put it."_

_Everyone was looking at Samuel. It was a long moment before he said, "It stays in the driveway. I'm not moving my car out of the garage so it can house some fancy car that you're probably going to wreck the moment you get your license."_

Four years later, and the Impala was still in perfect condition. Dean smiled to himself as he climbed into the driver's seat and stuck the key in the ignition. Part of him always lit up when he turned the key and heard the low murmur of the car starting, and today was no exception. He felt about a million times better.

He backed out of the driveway and down the road. Soon he was on the highway and headed across town to Walter R. Stubbs High School, his alma mater (reluctant alma mater, but alma mater still) and Sam's current place of enrollment. Damn, he hated it. The building was too cold, a result of the air conditioning that was now standard in schools (Dean could easily think back to the multiple old buildings he'd had to deal with as an elementary and middle schooler that didn't have it, but now every school from coast to coast seemed to be getting a revamp). The teachers didn't like Dean because he was rude, and they didn't like Sam any better because they thought he was rude. Stubborn Samuel still thought he could cure Sam, and so he didn't ever tell teachers about Sam's selective mutism. Which in all honesty probably made Sam worse.

Dean shook off those thoughts. He was getting upset, and he needed to be level headed to meet this Mr. Novak.

He switched on the radio to his favorite station, which was mainly classic rock- occasionally there would be some newer stuff thrown in, but it was a rarity. It was playing a song that definitely had the feel of the era, though it wasn't something he knew, nothing he could sing along to. Still, he bobbed his head, really getting into the music. Feeling uplifted, he rolled the driver's side window down and cranked the volume up. It was still blaring when he pulled into the parking lot.

He sat in the car a moment, not wanting to get out, but before long he did. It wasn't for nothing that he'd driven all this way.

The school seemed empty when he opened the main doors and walked in. The hallways were dark even with the morning sun streaming in, and the floors had a sort of gleam to it, as if they had been recently waxed and nobody had walked on them since. The walls were lined with lockers in alternating colors, the bronze and awful eggplant purple that were the school colors. Between the darkness and the emptiness and the fact that it was his high school, Dean felt like the starring character in some horror television show. All he needed now was a vamp or a puppy to jump out at him.

He looked at the note in his hand, searching for a room number, groaning when he realized that there wasn't one. "Great," he said to no one in particular. At least he knew where the Humanities classrooms were generally located. He headed in that direction, tensed for some reason, though whether it was nerves or the paranoia of a kid raised by hunters, he didn't know. Whatever it was happened to be unnecessary. The halls were empty, even the Arts and Humanities hallway.

With an eye roll, Dean called out. "Mr. Novak? Hello? Anyone?"

His attempts were met with silence, and he was turning around to go home when he came face to face with a young man. "Oh, um, hey," he said, caught off guard.

"You called?" the man asked. Dean caught sight of a mug in the man's hand, from the smell, filled with coffee. "I'm Castiel Novak. Please, call me Castiel."

"Uh, alright, Castiel. I'm Mr. Winchester. Dean. Dean Winchester."

Castiel's face remained perfectly serious except for a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "You are... younger than I was expecting." His head tilted ever so slightly, as if he were confused.

Dean nodded, not so much in agreement or acknowledgement as it was an urge to move, to do something. He should have known that was coming. "Yeah, well I'm not Sammy's dad, but I'm the only Mr. Winchester that there is besides him, and he isn't exactly talkative in front of others, you know?"

"I noticed. Does he speak much at home?"

Dean didn't commit to an answer; what Sam did at home was his and Dean's business, not important to some high school teacher of his, but Castiel seemed to take that as a yes. "Have you looked into psychologists? If he has a severe sort of social phobia, it could manifest in depression or selective mutism, and there are treatments to help with that. He's a brilliant mind. I have never seen a student so dedicated to learning. However, it is... difficult... to discuss his ideas and thoughts, as I am sure you can imagine."

Dean almost had to stop his mouth from hanging open. Even without knowing about it Castiel understood what was going on.

Castiel must have seen the expression that played on Dean's face. He smiled slightly. "Why don't we go into the classroom? There are chairs inside."

Dean was still a little dumbfounded, but he followed Castiel into the classroom. With a glance around, he immediately noticed that he had been in this particular room before, though the decorations were different. "This was Mrs. Maddox's room," he commented. "Did she get moved?"

"Actually, I heard she was fired. Apparently there was some sort of accident with a hockey stick."

Dean could believe it. His old world history teacher was known for rapping a hockey stick dangerously close to the heads of sleeping students. He was almost surprised he still had both his ears, actually.

He pulled up a chair to the teacher's desk and straddled it, sitting backwards in it. "So," he said. "Sam is smart. He doesn't talk here. Mad Maddox was fired. What the hell is this conference even for?"

"I take it you're not exactly impressed with my telling you what you already know... or suspected." Castiel smiled slightly again, and Dean noticed that his eyes gleamed when he did. Castiel's eyes were blue, a stunning and almost frightening color that seemed unearthly. They were brought out by his tie, slacks, and jacket, all in a darker shade of blue. As Castiel sat, he pulled a tan coat over the ensemble. "It's a bit chilly in here for my tastes," he explained, and Dean nodded. Castiel looked almost grateful, as if Dean had been the first person to agree with him on that one. "Anyway, you are Sam's..."

"His brother. Dean."

"So you've mentioned," Castiel said, and Dean blushed a little, embarrassed. This conference was going worse than he imagined. "And you are his guardian?"

"Not technically," Dean muttered. He refused to get into a discussion about Samuel in front of a stranger, but he realized that Castiel would more likely than not tell him to go away. "His _guardian_" Dean said, and he exaggerated the word, "wasn't in town to make it here." Well, it wasn't a lie.

"It was always possible to reschedule," Castiel noted, but he seemed to see something on Dean's face. "However, as you are an adult with heavy influence in Sam's life, you have a right to be here. In fact, I'm quite happy to see you here. I haven't gotten to see many siblings of my students yet."

"Well, glad I could make your day a little more sunshine and rainbows, Cas."

Castiel's lips pursed. "All right, Mr. Winchester, I suppose you should tell me exactly what you are hoping to achieve at these conferences..."

"Conferences." Since when did this turn plural?

"Or we'll never get anything achieved, and if anyone in my class needs some achievement, it would be Samuel."

Castiel had continued as if Dean had never interrupted, as if he was a student and not an adult. Dean stood up. He didn't have to deal with this Castiel, who had inhumanly blue eyes and treated Dean like a child and thought he could help Sam when nobody could, maybe not even Dean himself, which was scary as hell. "Look," he said, trying to vocalize his thoughts without coming off as weak or as pathetic or as a lunatic, "I appreciate what you're trying to do, but Sam's only got you for what, a semester? A year?"

"A year," Castiel said.

"And then he won't have you. I'm dealing with Sam. It's... it's Winchester family stuff."

Castiel looked as if he planned to argue, then shut his mouth. "Very well, then. At least... take a few things before you go." The man reached for a few papers on his desk.

"What kind of things?"

"Overviews of my teaching philosophies. Numbers you can call if you want to seek professional help for Sam. My number."

Dean took the papers. "See you," he said as he walked out the classroom door, almost bumping into a blonde bombshell walking in with her parents.

He really didn't intend to see him though. Not really.

* * *

Author's Note: thanks to crowleyshouseplants on tumblr for beta reading!


	3. Even In The Quietest Moments

Chapter Three: Even In The Quietest Moments

Dean parked and got out of the car. It was now nearly noon- he had stopped at the grocery store with the last of the food money and grabbed a few things, including a pound of meat for burgers and some pie. He grabbed the paper bag containing the food and headed up the walkway, carefully walking on the uneven stones. He kicked open the door so he didn't have to set the bag down. "Hey, Sammy, m'home!" he shouted. Sam had to be up by now.

Sure enough, Sam strolled out of the kitchen and into the little living area. He smiled at Dean, but the older Winchester immediately sensed that something was up. "What's going on?"

Sam angled his head towards the kitchen, and Dean wondered if Samuel had come home early. Likely. Sam wasn't talking, and the guardedness to his eyes had to come from somewhere.

Dean wanted nothing more than to head up to his room and hole up for a while. No doubt he'd get yelled at for leaving Sam alone, or forgetting some defense against the big bad monsters or something. However, the groceries were getting heavier... with a mental sigh, he headed into the kitchen, bracing himself for the worst.

The kitchen seemed empty. Dean set the bag of groceries down and pulled a chair up when suddenly a small cat jumped up at him. Startled, Dean took a couple steps back. "Sammy!" he said. "What is this thing?"

"It's a cat, jerk," Sam said, his eyebrows raised. "I'm going to ask Grandpa if we can keep it."

Grandpa. Every time Sam called Samuel "Grandpa," Dean thought an angel must lose its wings. Dean had no clue how Sam could think of the man as family. Blood, yeah, no doubt. But someone who was family? Like Mom and Dad had been? Like Bobby was? No.

"He's going to say no," Dean warned. "Probably has fleas and worms and doesn't belong in a house like this anyway," he said. He looked closer at the kitten, with it's matted black fur and deep brown eyes, and he sneezed. "Plus, I'm allergic."

Sam pet the furry little thing. "He'll sleep in my room and you can go back to yours. You need a mattress anyway. Dean, I know how tired you get. I can take care of myself. I'm sixteen."

The younger brother pet the cat some more and thought for a second. "What do you think about naming the cat Reuben?"

"Sounds like a sandwich, not a fleabag."

"Shut up. I like it." He went to the fridge and opened it up. There was some fried chicken that Dean had brought home last night for dinner sitting on the middle shelf, and he grabbed a leftover piece. His fingers dug under the coating and got a piece of pure chicken, which he tossed to the cat.

Dean rolled his eyes. That was perfectly good food. But if the cat made Sam happy, he didn't think he had the heart to say anything about it.

With the papers from the meeting and a box of cereal clutched in his hands, he went upstairs to his room- a cold, impersonal place that he barely ever used- and flopped down on the surprisingly soft bed. He inhaled- he loved the scent of the room, something old and musty and cold, but still wonderful. It wasn't the smell of his home, not the scent of motor oil and gas and old books that filled Bobby's house, but it was the smell of a home. And there was the tantalizing, awful, wonderful thought that maybe his mother had slept on this bed, and maybe his mother had touched these sheets, and maybe she was still watching over him. Dean didn't believe in angels, and he didn't think his mother was a ghost. But when he was alone in the Campbell house, some sort of magic that connected them through death seemed almost possible.

He curled into a ball and wrapped the awful yellow comforter around him as he looked at the first thing in the small stack Castiel had handed him. Contact information, scrawled on a yellow sheet of paper that was obviously ripped from a memo pad. Dean was beginning to really, really hate the color yellow. It was exactly as the teacher had said, his name and number. His address, too, from the looks of it. And email. "What, does he think I'm trying to date him or something?" Dean muttered to himself.

He shuffled it to the back and looked at the next few pages. They were mainly printed out internet articles about SM, the symptoms, and possible treatments. Castiel's messy hand littered these papers too, making little notes like, "Sam seems more social than most with selective mutism? I could be wrong about it," and "Sam and his brother moved often, correct?" Dean rolled his eyes. Nothing he didn't already know. Did the teacher think Dean hadn't looked up these articles already? Did the teacher seriously think he had thought of something nobody else had before? Sam had been diagnosed when he was four. This wasn't a recent development.

Dean popped open the Lucky Charms box and reached a hand in, aiming for as many marshmallows as he could get.

* * *

Castiel Novak closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, exhaling. Conferences were over, mostly without event. But there were, as always, a couple things that got him thinking. For one,_ how did Mrs. Austin think that her son was especially bright?_ Castiel snorted a little, then caught himself. His first education professor had always been strict about trying not to think bad things about students, and while Castiel wasn't quite sure this qualified, better safe than sorry. Start thinking something, and soon you're saying it. Start saying it, and it becomes an expectation. He sighed. He felt that he could think at the very least that Austin was not the brightest kid in the class. That was Sam Winchester, despite his eerie silence.

Castiel thought back to the conference with Dean, Sam's older brother. That one was the quickest all day. Dean had been in and out, and seemed... well... Castiel didn't quite have a word for it. But the conference hadn't gone well, and he would have paid cash for a do-over.

He gathered up his things and ran a hand through tangled brown hair. As he set his papers in order, he saw a pamphlet on the desk... something he had to order special from the school counselor on selective mutism. "I must have forgotten to give this to Dean," he murmured as he picked it up.

His eyes flashed bright with inspiration. Maybe, just maybe, he could have a do-over.

Briskly, he walked to the main office. As on every day except for Sunday, Charlie sat in the secretary's chair, her eyes glued to the computer screen. "Hello, Charlie," Castiel smiled. "How's 'work' coming?"

"Oh shit!" The redhead looked up. "Oh my gosh, Castiel! It's just you. I thought you were someone..."

"Who would get you fired for playing an MMO on the job?"

Charlie laughed. "Yeah."

Charlie Bradbury was one of the secretaries at Walter R. Stubbs, and a new employee just like Castiel. Though they were different- Castiel Novak being a degree-holding Social Studies teacher, and Charlie taking online courses in the local community college- they got along well, being the only two new staff members of the year, and both being the same age- twenty-four. In addition, Charlie's red hair, rebellious attitude, and bright mind reminded Castiel of his older sister Anna.

He crossed over to the other side of the desk. Brightly colored warriors were standing around the corpse of an animated monster. As the beast exploded into treasure chests, several items flew at the party. Charlie smiled and punched in a few commands via the keyboard. "Charlie, how did you bypass the school's security to install this?"

"A magician never reveals their secrets. Well, not a magician," she amended as she moved the mouse across the desk. "White mage."

"I thought you were an archer."

"Different account."

"Can you minimize it for a moment?

She hit a few buttons, and the desktop showed up, the school crest in the middle of the background. "What do you need?"

"An address. Can you look up Samuel D. Winchester?"

Charlie raised an eyebrow. "You need to ask?"

"No," he admitted. "But it is polite."

She rolled her eyes. "Okay. He lives in the middle of town, on Baker Street. I'll write down the exact address. Need to send a letter or something?"

"I'm making a house call."

"Fancy." Charlie grabbed a notepad and scribbled down the address in lazy chickenscratch. "Good luck."

"Thanks. I think I'll need it."

* * *

"I'm home!"

Dean groaned and sat up in his bed. "Fuck," he muttered.

He smoothed his hair down and headed downstairs, ready to intercede as soon as Samuel found out about Reuben. As he turned a corner, distracted, he almost ran right into his mother's father. "Whoa, cool your jets, kid," Samuel said. "The world isn't ending."

Dean ignored the jab. "How was the hunt?"

"Easy. Not as many deaths as I'd expected, which was nice. Next time, you should come."

Dean bit his lip. As much as he knew about hunting, as much as he wanted to try, he could never bring himself to leave Sammy behind... and that was a necessity. Sam couldn't lie his way into anything if he couldn't speak, even if he was as tall as most grown men. He couldn't help from the sidelines either, even if he was practically a genius... not if he had no way to talk to the other hunters. No. As long as his brother wasn't, couldn't be, part of the life, Dean had to stay out of it. "I'll pass. Hunting isn't my style."

"Man like you... should be. After all, what is your style? Your job barely pays rent, you spend all your time looking after Sammy. It ain't your job anymore, you know that? He's sixteen. Maybe if you stop babying him, he'll start talking."

"It isn't me that's keeping him from talking. I'm just helping him get along."

"And maybe that is keeping him from talking. If he didn't have someone to speak for him, maybe he'd be speaking for himself." Samuel scratched his head. "Where is the kid, anyway?"

As if by magic, Sam seemed to materialize behind Samuel, slipping out from behind a corner. He cradled Reuben in his arms, and the small cat made him look younger than he actually was. Though he was nearly silent as he approached, Samuel turned immediately to face him. The hunter's eyes appraised his youngest grandson, stopping flat when he noticed the kitten. "What's that?"

"It's a cat," Dean said. "Sam found him and wants to keep him."

"Where'd you find him, half dead in a gutter? He looks like the fleas have almost killed him. You gonna take care of that, kid?"

Sam nodded, and Samuel frowned. "How? I don't want some fleabag in my house, I've got enough to worry about with you two."

Sam hugged the cat closer and opened his mouth. Dean watched his mouth move, and though he couldn't hear anything come out of it, his jaw dropped. Was Sam really trying to talk? To Samuel?"

Their grandfather didn't act as though anything unusual had happened. "What'd you say, kid?"

"P...please?" Sam asked, and it was the quietest sound Dean had ever heard, but still there. Dean felt his heart pounding in his chest, some feeling swelling up. There was a bitter taste in his mouth, too. He shook his head, trying to clear the awful feeling, but it wasn't any use. _How did he feel this bad over something that should feel so good?_ His brother was_ talking_. That was excellent.

But his brother was talking to their jerk grandfather. Maybe it _wasn't_ so excellent.

Samuel was smiling, barely. Trying to conceal his feelings, as always. "Well, guess since you asked so nicely," he muttered, like it was nothing that Sam had spoke to him. "But I ain't taking care of it."

Still, their grandfather picked up the kitten. "What's it's name?" he asked.

Dean waited for Sam to answer, but it was like he'd never said a word- he was back to being silent. After a moment, Dean answered. "Reuben."

"Nice name. Least, it would be if it was a boy. This here's a Ruby."

"Wow, Sam. Thought you'd have made sure it was a boy before naming it. This is like something out of a teenage girl's story." Sam shrugged and Dean rolled his eyes. "Least we learned before it got pregnant. That would just be cliche."

Samuel set the kitten down, and it ran off, as if it owned the place already. "So, Dean, you prepare supper? I'm starving."

"Just about to. Hamburgers and apple pie."

Samuel nodded. The two didn't agree on much, but there were a few things they both liked. One was the chore arrangement that had Dean doing the majority of the cooking. And another, to Dean's eternal happiness, was their taste in food. "French fries?"

"Didn't think to grab any. I'll see what I can do with the potatoes in the basement."

"Good kid," Samuel said approvingly, which was the highest praise he gave. Dean had long ago learned not to mention that at twenty, he wasn't a kid any more.

The three men went their separate ways- Samuel to the living room to kick off his shoes and watch some television game shows that he enjoyed so much, Dean to the kitchen to work on dinner, and Sam... somewhere. Likely to search for Reub... Ruby.

As Dean was cutting the potatoes up in a weak attempt at french fries (Samuel really needed to get a deep frier), the doorbell rang. "I'll get it!" he called as he set the potato down. He stretched as he walked, cracking his neck. It seemed perfect, feeling awesome, right as he opened the door.

"Hello, Dean."

Castiel Novak stood at the door, holding a stack of papers. Dean felt a flash of annoyance. "Yeah?" he asked, irritation leaking into his voice.

"I forgot to give you some papers. I thought I would come and deliver them personally."

"I read the other papers. They're nothing I didn't already gather myself. I may not look it, but I do know how to do basic internet research." Dean folded his arms over his chest. If there was anything he hated, it was being presumed to be a dumb jock type. That wasn't who he was at all... and that's what Castiel seemed to think he was.

"These are... different. I ordered them special." Castiel handed him a thick pamphlet with Post-It notes sticking out in multiple places. "They should be much more help."

"Dean? Who's this?"

Samuel stood at the end of the hall, looking out to the door. A million thoughts ran simultaneously through Dean's head._ I can't let him know I went to Sam's conference. I can't let him know I'm talking to Sam's teacher. I can't let him get into our business. I can't. I just can't._

"I'm Castiel Novak, and I'm..."

"My friend. Castiel is my friend. We met a few weeks ago at the grocery store, and we had a lot in common, so we've been chatting ever since." Dean shot Castiel a pleading glance. Please, go along with it.

The teacher extended his hand. "Nice to meet you, sir. You must be Dean and Sam's father."

"Grandfather," Dean corrected.

But Samuel was grinning as he came down the hall. He obviously liked the 'father' thing. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Novak._ Castiel_ Novak, that's what you said? Bit of a mouthful of a first name."

"I call him Cas," Dean said, going with the first nickname that came to mind.

Castiel cocked his head a little with a tiny, amused smile. "He is the only one who calls me that," said the young educator. "I think many people believe I am a girl due to it."

Samuel laughed. "What do you do for a living, Castiel?"

"I'm a student. Dual majors, world history and education. I plan to become a teacher when I'm finished with school," he lied easily.

"Hmph." Samuel nodded, and Dean couldn't tell what he thought. "Try to get Dean to enroll wherever you're going. I don't need him hanging around the house all the time, and his job barely brings in money for his rent." He turned to Dean. "Take it inside or outside the house, don't just stand there letting all the cold air out, kid."

Dean stepped out of the house and shut the door behind him. Cas was standing there with a smile, hands on his hips. "I believe I have done you a favor."

"You have no idea."

"Pay me back. Let me help your brother."

Dean frowned. "What the hell would you want to do that for? Aren't teachers just supposed to teach the curriculum and forget all about their students?"

"That isn't what I believe. Sam is an incredibly bright mind. Where he is now, however- silent, getting bad grades and detentions because nobody acknowledges it as an issue- he'll never be able to do anything with it. I care for Sam, I care for all my students, and I would like to see him succeed."

"Yeah, right. Really."

"Would you accept it if I told you that it was my personal opinion that there aren't enough bright minds in the world, and I want to assure one more?"

Dean remained silent.

The teacher sighed. "I have done you a favor. I can continue to do so, if you will humor me. Will you meet me for coffee next Saturday? You can tell your grandfather whatever you'd like to tell him, and we can pick up this discussion where we left off."

"Will you leave us alone after that if it doesn't work out?"

"On the condition that you come, stay a full hour, and let me present my case- what I think is going on, and what I propose we do about it. Oh, and one more thing. No lying to me. For one, I have good instincts, and I'll know, and two, it won't get us anywhere. If you lie, all deals are off." Cas raised an eyebrow. "And I doubt your grandfather would like that."

"Fine. Where?"

"The _Bean There, Done That_. Eleven in the morning. My brother works there and can almost certainly get us drinks for half price." Castiel grinned and turned, starting to walk away, towards the clunky car parked in the street in front of the house.

"Wait, Cas," Dean asked.

Castiel turned back. "Yes, Dean?"

"Why didn't you just tell Samuel the truth?"

"Your grandfather?" Castiel frowned. "Well... I suppose it's because back when I was really in school, one of my professors said something that really stuck with me."

"Yeah?" Dean prodded.

"Yes. 'Sometimes, you have to break the rules to be a good teacher.' Sometimes, you have to trust your instincts on what the best thing for your students is, and not protocol." Castiel began to walk away again. As he slipped into the driver's seat of his car, he rolled down the window and leaned out. "I trust that you know what's best for Sam. Don't make me regret it, Dean."

As the teacher's car rolled away, Dean was silent. He didn't know if Castiel would regret his choices or not.


End file.
